


Cringe

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Complete, Ficlet, Gen, cancer fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2669732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully debates on whether she can believe Leonard Betts or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cringe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) for being my beta reader!

The high pitched whine of the defibrillator is the only other sound between the heavy breathing that consumes the both of them, and without warning, she strikes, pressing the paddles into the sides of his face. The force of the shock propels him out of the ambulance and into the street, just mere feet from the hospital door. She crawls to the pair of doors that are left open into the night air, and draws her legs in, her head pounding. A pair of EMS technicians come out and drag Leonard Betts away, while Scully watches defensively.

 

When Mulder arrives, a nurse is dressing Scully’s wounds, and asking her questions. She is minimally responsive, but cleared to leave. She makes her way to the car and sits in it, waiting for Mulder to come, so they can return the rental car and go home. Mulder sidles up to the window, and taps it gently, a concerned look on his boyish features. When she lowers the window, he speaks to her, about Betts, presumably but she isn’t listening because she is thinking:

_“His partner said he had an ability to diagnose cancer. Maybe his need provided a heightened sense.”_

_“I’m sorry, but you’ve got something I need.”_

“…You did a good job, Scully.” Mulder’s voice pierces her thoughts and they ripple outward and give way to new concerns and worries. Though her expression does not change, she feels upset, and finally, after waiting too long, she quietly says,

“I want to go home, Mulder.”

He does not argue. It’s been a long day for the both of them, and he can only imagine how she must be feeling. So he slips into the driver’s seat, and they make the drive back to DC.

“Is everything okay?” Mulder asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is soft, and low, and tells of a quiet frustration. She does not want to be spoken to.

“Alright…” He says, and speaks no more.

 

When they arrive at her place, it’s 11 in the evening. Mulder puts his hand on her arm and says something to her, which is unable to penetrate the thick fog of her whirling thoughts; the words are lost to the cool night air. She pulls away and stares at him blankly, his joke provoking no response whatsoever. She does not want to be touched. She climbs out of the car and closes the door on him. She ascends the front steps to her building like a goddess and disappears like a fading light inside.

It is almost midnight, and she has spent exactly 32 minutes in her tub.

_There is no way for Betts to know if I have cancer, if he’s never looked at my records or done any tests._

She stares at the red marks on her knees from where she had scrubbed so hard.

_He was able to diagnose another stranger in a bar who had lung cancer._

Her hands are pruned, and so is her skin, but the instant she stands, she still feels unclean, and Leonard Betts’ words slide down her skin like a vile, green viscous liquid. It makes her want to scrub harder, and so she drains the bathwater, fills it again—just hot enough to avoid scalding—and begins to forcefully wash herself her knees and arms especially.

The phone rings.

She sinks further into the tub.

“Scully, it’s me, if you’re screening, pick up. I’m worried,” Mulder says, when he gets the answering machine.

Scully closes the curtain and pretends not to hear it. She remains still and the bathwater grows colder, but she still feels so dirty.

“Scully, please, talk to me.” He leaves another message on her machine.

She drains the bathwater from the tub, and sighs heavily, still not wishing to come out. She forces herself out of the tub and begins to pat herself dry, in a ginger manner because her skin is so tender and raw.

“I’m going to come over,” Mulder says to the machine, and finally, she picks up the phone, still wrapped in her towel.

“I’m fine, Mulder. I was busy eating dinner. Good night.” She does not give him time to respond before she hangs up.

 

She skips dinner. The sight of Betts, his head, his dying mother, and the reviled cancerous mass she saw with Mulder earlier makes her not want to eat. It’s just as well, because entertaining the thought of having cancer, drains the little energy she has left to stand in front of the stove. With aching limbs, and sore joints, she slips into her long pajamas. She makes a note to go to the hospital and get tested soon for cancer, but the thought is dismissed by the sound of father’s voice in her head:

_“Use your logic, Starbuck. Does it really make sense for someone to be able to detect cancer without any sort of proper equipment?”_

And yet after she drifts to sleep and awakens at 2 in the morning, the drops of blood left on her pillow tell her differently. They mock her father’s voice, and using a shaking hand, she touches her nose and pulls her hand away to reveal she is bleeding. There is a painful throbbing sensation that passes, and another drop falls onto her pajamas. When she cleans this up, she spends the rest of the night awake, combing through her copy of _Grey’s Anatomy._


End file.
